


New Year, old Vices

by TariTheNurse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Desire, F/M, Fingering, Giving in to desire, Hunt, Hunter - Freeform, Hunting, Lack of backbone, Mistakes, Monster - Freeform, Monsters, Oral Sex, Passion, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Protected Sex, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Yeah...smut, hate/love, old flame, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21819778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TariTheNurse/pseuds/TariTheNurse
Summary: A hunt (and what it entails) plus an ending Dean would approve of. Smut. This is smut with a setup. Could I have left out the setup? Probably…yes…do I regret it? No. A better explanation is that this is a one-shot for the challenge on Tumblr where I chose “New Years Eve Party” and the Winchesters.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You
Kudos: 20





	New Year, old Vices

Weaving through the crowd to avoid the worst drunkards, you know it’s just a matter of time before the vampire has found a new victim. _Not on my watch._ You know what you’re doing, the blade miraculously tugged away under the strategically black skirt.

There aren’t a lot of hunting grounds in this corner of the county, forcing the monsters to either pick up stragglers passing through or to use the few events big enough to mask their activities. Like tonight. Everyone in a 20 miles radius who isn’t stuck at home will be at this party. Hell, with a bit of luck there might even be another hunter turning up, bringing news and juicy rumours along with them.

Pausing on the lowers steps of the staircase, you allow your gaze to wander across the mixed group until you spot the second-last person you wanted to see. _Sam bloody Winchester._ Not that you have a problem with him as such…it’s who comes with him.

“Long time, no see,” a familiar drawl announces behind you, causing goosebumps to crawl up the exposed spine, “whatcha doin’ here, [Y/N]?”

_Ugh!_ “I _was_ having a good time.” You refuse to turn and face Dean, knowing your irritation towards him will melt under the gaze of those green eyes. “Trust me, I got it under control.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums, so close this time his breath moves the fine hairs in your neck, “does that include the demon or just the drinkin’?”

There’s a chance he’s bluffing simply to get you all hot and bothered. He likes that. Likes to play you in all the senses of the word until you burst. Too bad you can’t take any chances and assume he’s messing around because a demon, as surprising as it would be, is always an option – especially at chaotic events where stupid civilians might get a tad too drunk to think about the likelihood of offers or generally are too careless. _Crossroad’s Demon?_ It’d make sense, still a quick view of the guestlist is necessary to rule out other options. Demons are scheming bastards that will use any opportunity to “network”.

“So…I take it you’re not bothered with the vamp then…” You let it hang like a statement rather than a question.

“_What_?”

A nonchalant inspection of your nails before you deign to respond. “Took out most o' the nest earlier this week…can’t imagine she’s happy all alone.”

Finally, Dean grabs you, turning you with his calloused hands so you stand face to face with just a few inches in between and it’s impossible not to get lost in the foresty eyes and perfectly shaped lips no matter how hard your logical conscience screams at you.

“You’re planning a…a _showdown_ ‘gainst a vamp with a grudge at a freakin’ _New Year’s Eve Party?_”

Is it concern in his eyes? Worry pulling the lips taught as if he’s trying not to yell? The Winchester brothers aren’t exactly known for their soft hearts even if they would lay their lives down for each other. It’s only a few days since you had Bobby at the other end of the line, complaining about the guys’ recklessness – if even the old guy’s devotion cannot warrant any empathy there’s no way one hunt and a night on the backseat of the Impala can.

“Don’t worry, Dean,” you smile with faked calm, “_I_ won’t ruin the fun.”

He’s about to say something when the shadow of someone else falls over the two of you. _Saved by a tall one any day._ Still, you miss the heat of Dean’s hands as they let go of your arms and he steps back a few steps, only the scent of leather and gunpowder lingering a heartbeat longer.

“[Y/N]? It’s been…almost a year?”

Of course the human Golden Retriever is all smiles as he gets updated on your last months and briefs you on the brothers’ own recent exploits, carefully masking the worries hidden underneath the kaleidoscope of his irises. Meanwhile, Dean’s standing beside you, tense and brooding until you finally lay out the plan to get the vamp to go for you.

It’s simple, really. A bit of your own blood on your dress and in a thin trail out back is sure to get the bloodsucker’s teeth throbbing for revenge. And a meal.

“Bait? _Bait?!_” Evidently the short brother has a short fuse too, barely managing to keep his voice down. “Are ya _insane_?”

_Asshole. _“Tell me _why_ it shouldn’t work?” _Afterall, even monsters want revenge._

But instead of answering, Dean simply storms away, probably in search of a drink…or maybe hoping to kill the monsters and get out of here.

Teaming up with the Winchesters makes sense despite the less than comfortable chill between you and Dean as the three of you work together to trap the demon and smoke it out (at least Sam has the courtesy to compliment your Latin). For a moment there, it’s like the first time you hunted with the boys ages ago and this time – just as then – you’re swept into an embrace full of joy by the man with the candy apple green eyes. _Sin on legs._ Oh, to make the same mistakes twice….then reality comes knocking as it’s bound to, dragging with it a glimpse of the vampire in question through the masses of partygoers counting down to the last hour of the old year.

Your plan works. Of course it does. Mingling with the people, you make sure to get close enough to the tooth fairy’s nightmare that it doesn’t just catch the scent of blood on your clothes but actually sees you. After that it’s just a matter of walking out the back door, down the alley, and wait for the sucker to appear and get skewered with a crossbow bolt dipped in dead man’s blood. Sam handles the decapitation.

“We prob’ly shouldn’t leave it here for people to find,” he points out.

“Got my pickup ‘round the corner.” _Because I know how to plan carefully._ “I’ll sort it. Freshly dug grave at the cem’.”

Dean’s been leaning against the wall, crossed arms straining the leather jacket he is sporting. “I’ll give a hand.” It’s not an offer. “Meet ya’t the motel, Sammy.”

Any corpse requires heavy lifting with or without head, so you are happy the guys load it up and hide it under the dirty, old tarp. You are less thrilled with the silent ride out of town while the apple-green eyes bore into the side of your skull even if you see how he rubs his jeans nervously with the palms as if to get rid of sweat. _Awkward for you too? You were the one to bail._ What should have been a five minute drive feels like an hour.

There’s no one around, making it relatively easy to expand the fresh grave downwards, add a tenant, and cover them up. This time of year is comfortably cool but digging has made the both of you sweaty and thirsty, making you rummage through the section behind the front seats for the last beer which you’ll have to share. Leaning down to scope under narrow excuse for a backseat, you feel the heat of a body right behind you before strong hands slide along your hips.

“Tell me to fuck off and I will.” Dean’s voice is husky, full of promise and restraint.

_I should tell him to leave._ “Drop the _off_ and you got a deal.” _Or not…_

Maybe Dean Winchester once made a deal with a demon because nothing else can explain the skill he possesses. Strong arms turn you and pull you closer to grant as much contact as possible, creating friction of his thigh between your legs when he hoists up the skirt and slides rough palms along the thighs and under your top to explore every inch of skin that his mouth doesn’t reach. Scalding kisses. Little bites verging on painful until he licks the sting away.

“Where ya stayin’, honey?” he pants into the crook of your neck.

“Abandoned h-house…two miles from-from here.” _Damn, he still knows how to work me up._

How you managed to get into the pickup and eventually make it all the way up to the wrought iron bed is beyond you. Not once does Dean let go of you completely, lips teasing your breasts through the lace and cotton while his fingers push past the flimsy barrier to your cunt so he can play. You’re dripping from the first orgasm by the time he dumps you on the bed and finally strips before you.

Practical. Determined. Piece by piece he yanks off the clothes to bare a ripped body sculped by God or someone with good taste. A blazing tattoo adorns the pec, adding a sense of unbalance despite the crooked scars littering the torso too. Desperate to feel Dean against you, you pull at your own clothes, but strong hands stop your frantic work.

“Let me.”

How can you not? He moves painfully slow, savouring your whimpers and moans whenever his fingers stray to tease you. Clit throbbing under the soaked panties, nipples perked against the lace still left. You need him. Your nails dance across his back, creating a red trail that leads past that perfect ass and around until his cock rests in your palm and you’re the one drawing gasps and groans from him with each deft stroke.

“Get a condom, big guy.”

It’s a whisper slithering into his ear but has the effect of the start gun at a race. The mussed sheets drag after him as he scrambles for his pants and wallet where he finds a small package…still he stops dead in his tracks when he turn around and sees you on your knees: panties dangling by a finger and bra lying on the floor, nothing shields you from the burning gaze that studies every curve and dip.

“Thank you,” you purr, tossing the underwear aside.

Falling to all four, a leisurely crawl brings you to the edge of the bed where you meet Dean head on, so to speak. The first lick along his shaft sends the cock bobbing uncontrollably and you have to hold on, wrapping the fingers around the root after fondling the balls for a moment. _Music in my ears._ It’s a rush to be the one to have such power over another being, to know that their bliss is at your mercy and every sound they produce is a result of what you do with your mouth. That’s why you allow him to grab hold by your hair. Why you accept the lightest of tugging meant as a plea rather than a demand regarding your ministrations.

You stop when the vein running along the underside of his cock begins to pulsate. Pulling him out with a slobbery pop, it’s obvious that he needs a moment to calm down which leaves time for the condom to be unwrapped and rolled on with a smooth kink of the wrist.

“Damn, [Y/N]…” Oh yeah, that raspy voice sends goosebumps racing down your back and your cunt clenching around nothing. “Fuck, you’re good.”

“It gets better.”

And it does.

Pushing you onto your back, the hunter slides over your body, claiming it for himself again just for good measure before aligning at the entrance to your core. Eyes meet. A nod. Then he penetrates, slowly dipping the tip before pulling back to spread the wetness over the thin silicone. Next time he sinks deeper, stretching your with a sweet burn but giving time for your to grow accustomed to him – something you show by rolling your hips.

It’s heaven when Dean fills you, hipbones crushed against your inner thighs that tremble as your cunt clenches. It’s paradise when Dean rams into you and retreats almost completely. Your legs over his shoulders, he hits the right spot with every pass and has you panting his name in unison to the rhythm.

“[Y/N],” he groans into your ear, “so…good…”

Sweat dances on his broad shoulders, making it hard to hold on as your body prepares for a second orgasm by tensing like a spring. Every nerve in your body sends flaming threads to your core and the lungs fight for each breath, as shallow as they might be.

“Fuck, [Y/N]…” Sitting back on his haunches, Dean yanks you closer, nearly triggering your release with the sudden movement. “Gotta be…gotta be you, [Y/N].”

His palm presses down over your mound seconds before his thumb finds the clit and flicks it nimbly. As if it had been a switch, your vision blackens from the explosion roaring through your body. You are vaguely aware that your back arches, forcing Dean to push you down as his hips stutter from his own orgasm in a world that grows steadily fainter as your lungs fail to suck in the oxygen it needs.

Demanding lips find yours, allowing the sharing of his breath and filling your sated body with life. Warm. Protecting. You feel content as you are brought back from the verge of unconsciousness to find the Winchester’s strong body wrapped around you, your name falling like rain as soon as he retracts a few millimeters.

“Ya with me?”

“Fuck, yeah.” The smile radiates just like the ecstasy still rolling through you in lazy waves. “You?”

Featherlight kisses trail your neck and shoulder as he rolls off, skillfully pulling out and leaving your cunt aching for him. “Got a few years to reclaim, but gimme ten to breathe.”

You stretch languidly to trace a path with your tongue towards his laxing cock. “What? Getting lazy?”

“You gonna be the death of me,” he groans…but the excitement is returning already with a promise of more.


End file.
